Uncharted
by lollypopf
Summary: Continuation of my other two stories ("Thanks for the Memories" and "Losing Grip"). Picks up a few years after "Losing Grip" left off. Fimogen-focused, just in case that wasn't obvious.
1. Chapter 1- One Sweet Love

**Chapter 1-** One Sweet Love

"Greetings, Darth Elevator. How's your day been so far?" Imogen asked cheerfully, while stepping into the elevator. Her eyes habitually followed the man's finger as it pressed the button labeled '28', and the gold-leafed doors slid shut in front of them. Even after four years of Upper East Side living, it still never failed to amaze her that tasks as trivial as elevator-button-pushing were chiseled art forms in that intriguingly unique city.

"It's had its ups and downs," he smiled, winking at the quirky young woman. Imogen could not even begin to recall the large number of times he had used that pun with her, but still she met it with a polite laugh every single time. Being friendly was something she prided herself on, and she was determined not to let the infamous New Yorker attitude corrupt her. "How about yourself, Mrs. Moreno?"

Opening the red folder that was tucked underneath her arm, she eagerly pulled out her freshly penciled sketch and handed it off to the older man. "My day was terrific, actually! I landed a new account. In approximately ten months you should be seeing _this_ fancy schmancy new theater off the end of West 40th—just have to get some pesky zoning issues straightened out, then it will be underway!" Her voice was enthusiastic, as Imogen returned the building design to her folder after he had inspected it.

"Congratulations! It's a very beautiful sketch. I like this one even more than that studio one you did a while back—That was my favorite Moreno-original up until today." The man shifted his gaze down towards the smiling woman and presented her with a well-mannered wink.

"Thanks, Hank! I can't wait to tell Fiona! Is she home yet?"

"Mrs. Coyne graced us with her arrival around seven tonight. She appeared to be very preoccupied this evening, arguing with someone over the phone concerning mislabeled hemlines or something." The bell dinged just as he finished his sentence. Outstretching his white-gloved hand, he held down on the 'open doors' button, to ensure they would not close prior to Imogen having a chance to exit. "Here we are, Mrs. Moreno. Enjoy your night celebrating."

Before stepping forward, she nodded at the kind man. "Will do, Hank. See ya on the flip side!" Her feet guided her out as she entered their floor of the building, fumbling for her keys. Looking up towards the door, she spotted a key already stuck inside of the lock and rolled her eyes. _Fiona must be VERY preoccupied today_, she smirked to herself. She pulled the abandoned set of keys out of the knob and opened the already unlocked door.

The socialite sat at her expensive walnut desk in the study with her eyes remaining glued on the laptop in front of her as she heard the door open and then close. Her persistent fingers tapped away at the keyboard, sending off yet another distressed email to her newly hired assistant. As she heard light footsteps approaching from their living room, the corner of her mouth lifted into a small smile. Immediately the large condo felt more full, knowing there was one Imogen Moreno now inside of it.

It wasn't long before two warm tan hands reached around and covered Fiona's eyes. "Guess who." Imogen instructed while leaning down to press a light kiss to her wife's cheek.

"Hmm…" Fiona cocked her head to the side slightly. "Eli?" Reaching up, she pulled the petite hands away from her face and swiveled around in her chair. Her happy expression fizzled away in pretend dissatisfaction. "Oh, it's just _you_."

Offended, the younger woman responded with a dramatic gasp. "Fiona Coyne, you wound me!"

"Kidding! Knew it was you, obvi. Eli's hands are _much_ softer than that," she teased. "Now come here, I've missed you," Fiona pulled Imogen down to match her height so that she could give her a proper welcome-home kiss—the kind of kiss that still left both of them feeling completely enamored, even after nine years of being together.

Very content, the eccentric young woman straightened herself back up and began slowly spinning her wife's chair in circles. Fiona shook her head from side to side in amusement and rolled her eyes, allowing Imogen to continue the spins. "So I have some pretty great news! Want to go out and talk about it over dinner?"

Pressing her heels down firmly to the floor, the socialite halted the chair's motions to prevent getting any dizzier. Letting out a sigh, she looked up at Imogen with burdened eyes. "Immy, I so wish we could, but I really don't have any extra time to go to dinner tonight. I _have_ to finish revising the Fall line if I have any chance of meeting next week's deadline. I'm sorry, hon," she frowned.

"It's okay, I understand," the younger woman assured, though the disappointment was hard to disguise in her voice. "The clothes aren't going to design themselves, right?" With a half-grin, she leaned down once more to give Fiona another quick peck. "Love you. I'll let you get back to it," she murmured into her ear before changing her direction to exit the room.

"Im?"

"Yeah?" Turning around, Imogen again faced the curly brunette.

Fiona stared at her wife for a few seconds, observing the girl's discouraged appearance. If there was one thing she hated doing more than anything in the world, it was disappointing Imogen. "You didn't tell me what your great news was..."

"Oh… it's nothing really," she shrugged nonchalantly. "Mr. Yomako liked my design—he gave me his account."

Jerking her head back and lifting up her arms, Fiona rose from her cushioned chair. "What do you mean '_it's nothing'_?" she asked, astonished. "That's amazing news! You've been working on that design for weeks—And_ of course_ he loved it, because it's magnificent!" Taking a few steps forward, she enveloped the other girl in a tight hug. "I'm so proud of you."

Imogen beamed, relishing in the intoxicating hug. "Thanks," she exhaled. "It just feels so good to have it all finally pay off. Like a huge weight is lifted off of my shoulders."

Pulling away from their embrace, the socialite looked into those deep brown eyes. After all those years, she still didn't have the heart to deny that girl of anything. Twisting around, she moved towards her desk and shut her laptop. "Come on," she said while linking her arm through Imogen's and pulling her out of the study. "Let's go celebrate."

"What about the Fall line?" she questioned, confused, as she was being guided into the living room towards the front door.

"The Fall line will just have to wait…" The socialite grabbed her red blazer from the hook and then turned her attention back to Imogen. "Because tonight I am taking my incredibly talented wife out for a fabulous dinner to celebrate her grande réussite."

"Really?" Imogen squealed as she brought her forehead close to the other girl's. "You, Fiona Coyne, are the best. Like for realsies, _the best_," she whispered. Her small hand wrapped around the back of her wife's neck, drawing her face in enough for their noses to touch, but not quite letting their lips meet. Her free hand hooked onto Fiona's pant's pocket and gently tugged, bringing her body near to her own. Closing her eyes, she felt her heart pounding inside of her chest, as she stood there feeling entirely content with their charming little life.

Fiona moved her nose, softly letting it graze along the rest of her wife's face. Biting her own lower lip, she could feel the anticipation building inside of her. Patience wearing thin, Fiona let the red blazer fall to the floor and wrapped her arms around Imogen's waist. With tenacity, she crashed their lips together and allowed her lust to take the lead.

"Dinner will still be there in an hour," Imogen noted mid-kiss, as she began to seductively push her wife towards the big grey couch.

"Yes… yes it will." The curly brunette fell into the cushions as she watched the younger woman begin unzipping her own jacket. The zipper got a little stuck due to Imogen yanking it down too rapidly, which caused the younger girl's brows to furrow in frustration as she continued her attempts to remove the garment. Fiona couldn't help but giggle watching her perfectly silly wife. "Hey, Immy?"

Perking up her head, she looked forward into the socialite's strikingly beautiful eyes, continuing to further remove her jacket. "Yeah, Fi?"

Fiona ran her fingers through her long dark hair and tilted her head just a tad, admiring the young woman she had built her life with. "You make me really happy," she smiled.

Briefly, Imogen stopped fiddling with her clothes and let the words warm her heart. She sat down beside her wife and then gently grazed her cheek with her tan fingers. "I'm glad…because _you_ make _me_ happy, too," she breathed.

Feeling the other girl's irresistible touch upon her face, Fiona closed her eyes, cherishing the moment. Her body was shifted further backwards as a pair of warm lips began to trail up her long neck. Completely besotted, there was zero doubt in her mind that celebrating Imogen's success was well worth the all-nighter that she would now have to pull in order to have any chance at all of finishing that chaotic Fall line.


	2. Chapter 2- Come Round Soon

Chapter 2- Come Round Soon

"How's your Lobster Tartine?" Imogen asked, eyeing her wife's meal enviously while she pushed a silver fork around in her Broiled Squab. "Is it as yummy as it always is?"

"Oh my god, it's divine," the socialite professed as she brought the cloth napkin up to dab her shimmering lips. "Do you like yours?"

The younger woman's eyes shifted around in their sockets. "Ummm…."

Knowing Imogen all too well, Fiona narrowed her gaze suspiciously and set down her utensils. "Let me guess," her voice heavy with sass, "you want to trade?"

"Yes, please!" The quirky young woman was already reaching over to switch their plates as Fiona shook her head in amusement and took a sip of her water.

"I remember the days when you would find one thing you like at each restaurant and only order that every single time. What happened? Bored with tradition? Trying to explore bigger and better things?"

"Not at all!" Imogen countered. "I just feel so guilty whenever the waiter recites the 'Chef's Special' speech—it takes him like three minutes every time, so I feel like it's my _duty_ to order it, or else his entire monologue goes to waste."

After cutting off a small piece of her newly adopted dish, Fiona chewed slowly, savoring its rich flavor. It was easily one of the best meals she had ever tasted, she decided, and it completely bewildered her that Imogen wasn't a fan—though the socialite was secretly very happy that the switch had been made…after all, she had now been introduced to a new favorite dish. "You know, you're pretty lucky to have _such_ a generous wife that will just agree to swap food whenever your little heart desires. Honestly, the things I do for you…" Taking another bite of that delicious Broiled Squab, the older girl grinned internally.

"Well your tastes are just so refined, Mrs. Coyne. I never have to worry about your willingness to try new things. Most of the time you even like them." Fiona shifted her blue eyes around noncommittally. "That's what I thought," the younger girl laughed, giving her wife's thigh a small squeeze as the waiter approached their table, interrupting their conversation.

"How does everything taste, ladies?" He picked up their glasses, topping them off with water.

"Everything is perfect," Fiona responded, keeping her eyes fixed on Imogen. She reached down and grabbed the warm hand from her thigh and clasped it in her own two. "Since we're celebrating tonight, should we have a glass of the hard stuff?"

Imogen shot the older girl a bemused look. "The hard stuff?"

"Yeah," she winked, turning her attention back to the waiter. "We will have a bottle of your _finest_ sparkling apple cider. Oh and maybe bring hers out in a cup with a lid—she tends to spill."

"Fiona! That was only two times!" Imogen blushed, feeling completely embarrassed. She buried her face into her wife's shoulder.

Poking the other girl's hip, the socialite shook her head. "You're forgetting about The River Café."

"Fine, _three_ times!" she mumbled.

Fiona nodded knowingly. "Okay, okay, no lid _this_ _time_. Guess she'll learn proper table etiquette _eventually_." Her brows furrowed as the waiter scratched through a sentence on his notepad. Did he really think she was serious? "Wooow," she whispered softly so that only Imogen could hear.

"So just the cider?" He shifted his focus between the two.

"Hmm… anything else you want?"

"Salted caramel ice-cream?" Imogen looked at the curly brunette with hopeful eyes.

Fiona exhaled, knowing exactly how hyper the ice-cream would make her wife. In that moment she finally realized that she was married to a five year old. "The ice-cream sounds like a fab idea," she surrendered, sending the young man away with their order. She was quickly thanked with an enthusiastic kiss to the cheek.

"So," Imogen breathed into the older girl's ear, "What were we talking about, again?"

"Umm, I think it was something about me being amazing, me trying new things, you trying to seduce me—the usual."

The quirky young woman giggled. "Oh is that so?" She was answered with a nod. "Well I'd _hate_ to leave a conversation unfinished..." Her tan finger grazed up the socialite's pale arm with a slight tickle. She turned her brown eyes upwards to study her wife's features—something she never grew tired of doing. As she continued sitting quietly in their booth, playing with the other girl's arm, she realized her strong dislike for the dimmed lighting, because someone as beautiful as Fiona Celestine Arabella Coyne deserved to be fully illuminated at all times. "So about you trying new things…" her voice broke through the silence. "How is your new assistant working out? Elisha, is it?"

"_Eliza_," Fiona corrected, cocking her head to the side, confused by the sudden shift in discussion. "Imogen Moreno, is that jealousy I'm sensing?"

"Well she looks like a model, Fiones!…I just don't see why you had to fire Peggy…" her voice trailed, while her brown eyes wandered the room.

"Peggy was a nightmare! She didn't even know the difference between a gusset and a gore…" The socialite scoffed, remembering her incompetent employee. "Besides, it doesn't matter how Eliza looks. She's hardly my type."

Fidgeting with the napkin in front of her, Imogen tried to remain casual. "Oh? Well what _is_ your 'type'?"

"I generally tend to go for incredibly beautiful weirdos with a particular affinity for wearing toe socks to bed." Fiona crossed her legs underneath the table and thanked the waiter as he placed the two flutes of cider and a plate of ice-cream in front of them.

Ignoring the new additions to the table, the younger woman perked up her ears curiously. "Do these weirdos that you find _so_ desirable also happen to enjoy banana, strawberry, mango juice with a dash of cinnamon?"

"Obviously," Fiona agreed, "and they absolutely _must_ adore everything monkey-related. Not having these qualities is definitely a deal-breaker."

Imogen smiled, looking down at their table. It was always comforting to be reminded that her odd and unique characteristics were cherished by the gorgeous fashionista. _Eliza is way too boring to ever catch the eye of a Fiona Coyne_, she concluded, with every ounce of her jealousy fading away. "Where in the world are you going to find such a perfect specimen?"

The older girl pretended to look around the room, eyeing the surrounding people. "Hmm… I don't know. Do you know of anyone?" she asked, while placing her hand on top of Imogen's fidgeting fingers, and catching those brown eyes with her own.

"I just might…" Leaning over, Imogen placed an affectionate kiss on her wife's lips, before being alerted by the socialite's ringing phone. She watched inquisitively as the phone was retrieved from the large purse and the number was inspected, growing nosier as she noticed Fiona's eyes widened.

"Hello?" Fiona answered with a nervous voice. "This is she… Yes, I remember." She held up a finger as she saw her wife mouthing to ask whom it was on the phone, growing annoyed with only hearing half of the conversation. "Are you serious? Wow…that's…wow… Yes, she's with me, I'll let her know. Okay, that sounds good. Thank you, you too." Setting down the phone, Fiona took another bite of the Broiled Squab and then sipped on her water.

The younger woman lifted up her arms dramatically. "Um, hello…? Who was that?"

"No one important," Fiona shrugged. She motioned towards the flutes that were still resting in front of them. "Shall we toast?"

Not even attempting to mask her irritation, Imogen shook her head from side to side. "After you tell me who that was and what was so important that you had to answer it during dinner—a dinner, let me remind you, that you are having to celebrate _your wife_." She pointed her determined thumb at herself, and stared at Fiona, awaiting clarification.

"Fine, I'll just toast by myself." After picking up one of the cider-filled glasses, the socialite raised it into the air, ignoring the other woman's obvious frustration. "To another remarkable Moreno design being brought to life—you are so talented and I love you so much, Immy. No one deserves this more than you." Lowering her flute, she tapped it against the one that was still resting on top of the table, and then took a small sip. The corner of her mouth lifted in a smirk as she saw Imogen's impatient fingers tapping on the tabletop, refusing to acknowledge her words. "Oh and one more toast," Fiona picked up the other girl's flute and forced it into her tan hand. "To _us_—soon to be _parents_ of what will surely be one ridiculously spoiled baby boy."

Imogen's tapping fingers halted immediately as the words reached her ears, while her hand that was holding the glass continued hovering in mid air. "Parents?" she asked cautiously, not yet getting her hopes up until she could verify that she had heard her wife correctly.

"Mhmm," the socialite confirmed complacently. "That was the agency, Im. We were chosen—Haley chose _us_." Her hand wiped away a tear as it was developing in her eye. "We're going to have a baby," she whispered, searching the other girl's face for a reaction.

The flute fell from Imogen's hand, spilling onto the table as she lunged forward to embrace her wife. She closed her eyes, letting the long-awaited news sink in. It seemed impossible—impossible to be able to feel _that_ amount of insurmountable happiness.

"That's it," Fiona sighed, looking at the wet table and the cider-soaked ice-cream, "you're getting a cup with a lid next time. No excuses."

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**A/N: With my busy schedule right now, it's my goal to upload at least one chapter per week. Some weeks might have more than that, I'll just have to play it by ear. I apologize for the wait!**


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